Black, White and Shades of Grey
by Lady Razorsharp
Summary: As her relationship with Michael deepens, Marella has to deal with her subconscious. In homage to Ch. 5 of Enfleurage's 'Ab Ovo.'


**AN: This is in homage to Enfleurage's excellent story, "Ab Ovo." Michael is visiting Marella for the weekend, and in the middle of the night, Marella wakes from a nightmare… **

**Airwolf and Co. belong to Mr. Bellasario; I'm just borrowing them. **

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**Black, White and Shades of Grey **

**By The Lady Razorsharp **

_An angel lost his wing,  
Crooked he did fly.  
Emma Racine deFleur _

"Hello?"

It was pitch black, and the air was a clammy sort of cold that soaked through the thin material of her dress, making the hem slap wetly against her calves. Her voice echoed in the darkness, as did the click of her stiletto heels against what felt like a cement floor.

Suddenly there was a sound like steel on steel, and a bright spotlight burst into life overhead. Airwolf sat in the center of a pool of brilliance, gleaming as if the paint was still wet. In daylight, the helicopter's 'killer whale' livery looked black and white, but under the harsh light, Marella could see the pearlescent sheen of the dark gray shell and the mist-pale underbelly.

With its rotors at a standstill, Airwolf seemed to be a queen in repose, potent and deadly even in silence. Marella knew how truthful that impression was; hidden under the helicopter's sleek fuselage were more than a dozen offensive weapons, from chain guns that could cut through steel to Shrike missiles fitted with with depleted-uranium tips.

However, the most amazing of all Airwolf's features were the twin turbojets tucked close underneath the stubby wings. When thumbed to life, the jets could propel Airwolf at supersonic speeds, and made a sound like a sledgehammer against a plate glass window. Marella smiled to herself, remembering the times she had listened with wry amusement over secure channels as Russian pilots exclaimed in surprise over Airwolf's mind-bending maneuvers.

Marella approached Airwolf with slow, almost reverent steps. Without thinking, she reached out a hand to gently brush its elegant nose with her fingertips.

A voice barked out of the darkness. "That's far enough."

Marella immediately dropped her hand and whirled to face the darkness. "Who's there?"

Footsteps drew nearer, the sound muffled by rubber soles against the concrete. Marella tried to pinpoint the source of the sound, and turned back to her starting point just in time to see Stringfellow Hawke, Airwolf's pilot, step into the light. He was wearing an Airwolf flight suit; the gray fabric fit his form neatly, and was adorned with the 'wolf-in-sheep's-clothing' insignia patch on his left bicep.

"Hawke," she began, relieved to see a familiar face. "What--"

The words died on her lips as she realized that the pilot had his sidearm leveled at her. She could see the muscles in his forearms tense as he held the weapon expertly, leftover from his training as a soldier. His brother's MIA bracelet gleamed on his right wrist.

Under his dishwater brown crew cut, the pilot's eyes glinted in the light, cold and blue and soulless in his lean face. "What are you doing here?" he gritted.

She opened her mouth, but her brain was buzzing too fast to form a coherent sentence. _I don't know, I just got here, where's here?_

Another voice came out of the shadows; this one low and gravelly with age. "I think he asked you a question, lady."

Dominic Santini, Hawke's adoptive father, ducked under the tail boom and approached the tense tableau. He also wore Airwolf's flight suit, though it was cut more generously to fit Dom's middle-aged spread. The older man's normally genial features looked as if they had been carved in stone, his dark green eyes hooded under heavy gray brows. Like Hawke, Santini had a Beretta 9mm trained on her, and though she was sure the bulk of Santini's experience with firearms had been with a machine gun forty years on, his cold expression bore no hint of uncertainty.

"Whatsamatter?" A female voice echoed in the space, the syllables tinged with the remnants of a Texan twang. "Cat got your tongue?" Caitlin O'Shaunessy, the ex-Highway Patrol officer who had befriended Hawke and Santini a few years before, stepped into the light and stopped a few yards off Santini's right. She too held a gun, but hers was smaller and more compact than the others, and her blue-green eyes were as glacial as an Alaskan sea. The harsh light blazed on her short fringe of copper hair, and her Airwolf flight suit rustled slightly as she shifted to get a better angle.

Marella's brain groped for the first thing she could think of. "Where's Michael?"

Caitlin's lips curled in a smile that made Marella's cafe-au-lait skin crawl. "He didn't put up much of a fight." She jerked her head to the left, beyond Airwolf. "He's over there."

Dom's chuckle was cold. "What's left of him, anyway."

Hawke hadn't moved through the whole exchange, but now he waved the business end of the gun in the direction Caitlin had indicated. Keeping the group in full view, Marella moved to the side to a huddled figure in white and knelt down beside him.

"Michael?"

She turned the blond agent over, and her breath caught in her chest at the sight of his bruised face. His glasses were missing, as was his ubitiquous eyepatch. His good eye was nearly swollen shut, and his blind eye searched her face in tandem with its twin, the iris milky white.

"M'rella?" he slurred, reaching to touch her face with a shaky hand. His suit was torn and grayish with dust, and his tie was spotted with blood from where it had dripped from his split lip. She gripped his hand, fighting down the rising panic that welled from the pit of her stomach.

"I'm here," she murmured. At the reassuring pressure of his fingers against hers, panic gave way to anger, and Marella shot a poisonous glare at Hawke. "What have you done? Are you all insane?"

"He crossed the line once too often," said Dom, his voice echoing in the cavernous space. "He just wouldn't leave it alone."

"Airwolf is _mine_," snarled Hawke. He stepped closer and looked down his nose at Marella. "I'm tired of Michael's empty promises. I'm going over there and bringing Saint John home."

"You can't!" Marella's eyes widened. "It'll provoke an international incident!"

Dom's gaptoothed grin sent chills down Marella's back. "Let 'em come. Hawke and his Lady can handle anything they toss at her."

"He's right." A familiar voice came out of the shadows, and slow, measured steps came toward them. Dressed in a suit of deepest black, Michael stepped into the light, his blond hair gleaming like a halo.

"What..." Marella darted a glance to her side, and realized that her hand was holding empty air. When she looked back toward Airwolf's crew, their gray flight suits were now solid white.

"Airwolf can and will repel all who oppose her," Michael continued smoothly. "With Hawke at her controls, she is unstoppable."

Marella shot to her feet, hands out in a warding-off position. "_Wait._ Wait just a minute." She shook her head. "This is ridiculous."

"Oh, I don't know if I'd use that strong a word," said another voice, one that seemingly came from everywhere.

Suddenly the shadows on Airwolf's hull were alive, and they oozed down the helicopter's surfaces to collect in a puddle of glistening black liquid on the floor. The puddle churned grotesquely for a moment, then surged upward and congealed into a blobby shape. Slowly, the black ooze leached away, revealing the face and form of Dr. Charles Henry Moffett, Airwolf's creator. He was dressed in a finely-cut suit of spotless white, and he smoothed his tie as he walked toward her.

"Hello, Marella." His smile was as oily as the substance that had birthed him.

"You're dead," she breathed. "Hawke killed you in Libya." She turned to Michael for answers, but his expression was closed, his good eye flat and dull. Without a word, Michael turned and walked back into the shadows. When she made as if to follow him, Moffett stepped in front of her, blocking her way.

The insane genius laughed. "I'm just full of surprises, aren't I?" The group behind him snickered as if they were sharing a private joke.

"I read the report," Marella argued. "I saw the recording from Airwolf's cameras. Hawke _obliterated_ you."

"True enough, but..." Moffett wagged a finger. "That's not what you wanted, was it?"

Instantly, the memory of her anger at Hawke's actions swept through Marella. "No," she said darkly. "You got off easy. You should be alive and well, sitting on your ass in Leavenworth." She stepped forward, towering over him in her three-inch heels. "I wanted you to think every single day about what you did. The research at Red Star was completely halted. Lives were destroyed, families torn apart. Michael trusted you, and you repaid that trust by stealing his ability to do anything except sit behind a desk."

"Ah, now we're getting somewhere." A feral light dawned in Moffett's eyes. "Let's be honest, Marella. When it comes down to it, you could care less about Airwolf, or research, or anyone else. You care about Michael; that's what this is all about."

She drew herself up stiffly. "It's _about_ taking what doesn't belong to you."

Moffett applauded mockingly. "_Brava!_ I doff my black hat to you; Joan of Arc herself couldn't have said it better." He mimed taking off a virtual Stetson and bowed, then dropped his hand and fixed her with an ugly stare. "You'd have liked to have killed me yourself, wouldn't you?"

Marella snorted. "It's not up to me to be your judge and jury."

"Admit it," snarled Hawke. "You wanted to kill Moffett as bad as I did, and you were just angry that I was the one who got to pull the trigger."

"You loved Michael," said Caitlin. "You'd been in love with him for years and you were too afraid to say so." The redhead eyed Marella with open contempt. "Then when you thought you might lose your chance, you wanted revenge on Moffett--but _nice_ girls don't do things like that, do they? Wonder Woman doesn't strangle villians with her magic lasso."

Dominic laughed mirthlessly. "You talk a fine game--'we're the good guys'--but deep down you're no different than Moffett when it comes to someone threatening Michael."

"Look, this conversation is _over_." Marella tipped her head back. "I'm ready to wake up now," she called into the blackness that soared away above her head.

"No need to rush off; let's talk about something else." The group behind Moffett took a step forward, their guns raised at the ready. "Despite your defusing of my little parting gift, there's one point that you continually forget: I _am_ Airwolf," grated Moffett. "These fine people--" he turned to include Airwolf's crew, "--know that, Hawke especially. Don't you, my dear Stringfellow?"

Suddenly a large tawny wolf was standing where Hawke had been just a moment before, and he whined and lay obediently at Moffett's feet. A grizzled gray wolf lumbered over, followed by a slight, red-coated she-wolf, and they too sat at Moffett's feet. A pure white wolf--one with a long scar across the left side of its face--joined them, its right eye a piercing blue in contrast with the glowing topaz-yellow irises of the rest of Moffett's pack.

"As long as Airwolf lives, _I_ live," Moffett continued. "You will never be rid of me." The pack rose to their feet with teeth bared, their gutteral growls making the hair on the back of Marella's neck stand straight up. "Every day when you wake up next to Michael, you will remember."

Instinctively, Marella backed away. "No. Michael's learned how to compensate--"

"But he'll never fly again, will he?" Moffett's voice was soft, teasing. "He's clumsy, awkward...you wish he was stronger, don't you?"

"Michael _is _strong! I accept him as he is. I love him as he is." She forced herself to look Moffett square in the eye. "I'm not afraid of you," she snarled, though she continued to back away. The fangs of the white wolf snapped at the hem of her dress.

"You _are_ afraid," sneered Moffett. His beady blue eyes glittered. "So again: I win."

At that moment, both Moffett and Airwolf dissolved into a huge black pool that bubbled and churned violently. Airwolf's roar echoed in the cavernous space, eliciting an atonal howl from the three that surrounded Marella. To her shock, a huge black wolf rose from the pool. Wings of blinding white unfurled from the animal's back, and the wolf shook them out with a heavy _whuf!_ of air.

Marella stumbled back, tripping on her high-heeled shoes, and she landed heavily. There was an eternity of silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of the wolves, their breath coming out in puffs on the cold air.

They all sprang on her at once, tearing at her clothes, ripping her flesh with teeth and claws. With its muzzle dripping blood, the white wolf pounced on her, aiming for her throat.

Just before the jaws of death closed on her, Marella woke up.

-End-


End file.
